The Mysterious Disappearance of Alaric Morgan-Reid
by TrailingEducation
Summary: Even careful children go missing. [Sequel to: Loyalty.]
1. Housebreaker

**The Mysterious Disappearance of Alaric Morgan-Reid**

 _Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse._

Alaric told herself the rhyme as she sat up in her bed. The shadows in the corner of her room were dark and dense, and as she peered at the door left ajar she tried to tell herself she was dreaming.

The noises had woken her up many times before. She had told Derek, but he replied that he never heard them – it was her imagination, nothing more. Spencer at least humoured her by allowing the hall light to stay on and letting Clooney in her room, where now he slept at the foot of her bed, ready to defend if need be.

"Hello?" she called, but no one answered. There was a faint scuffling in the distance and, gathering her courage, the girl slipped out from under her covers, arming herself with a heavy book from her nightstand.

Clooney's head rose when he noticed she was out of bed. His tail wagged and he sprung to his feet, but as soon as he heard the scuffling – closer now, nearly outside of her door – he crouched low to the floor, baring his teeth as he let out a deep warning growl.

"Quiet, Clooney!" Alaric muttered; "They might come in here!"

She took a quick survey of her room. The door was her safe exit, but if the intruder came after her she resolved to use the window; there were some bushes below that would break her fall, and it was large enough that she could force Clooney through if she had to. But that all depended on whether or not they came after her. If not, she needed to reach her minder before they realised she was there.

 _Why does this always happen when Derek and Spencer_ _ **aren't**_ _here?_ She thought as she peered out into the hallway.

"Follow me," she murmured to Clooney; "If you see something, _don't bark._ "

The dog growled and she took that as assent. If he did bark, Alaric hoped the sight of a dog would be enough to scare the intruder away.

In the hall she could see nothing out of the ordinary. There was a small table on the opposite wall some inches away from her where Derek had put the second house phone, and as she caught sight of it Alaric had an idea. She opened the door wide and hurried out, snatching the phone from its cradle and dialling in '911.'

"Just in case," she mouthed as she slipped it into her pyjama pocket.

The pair turned to the stairs, which curved around the corner and into the dark downstairs hallway. Alaric's minder was in the guest room – but when she thought about it, Alaric realised how useless she would be if there were an intruder in the house. A middle-aged, mild-mannered woman, Mrs 'Java' Bean was nervous of Clooney and strange cars in the street, so to enlist her help against a potentially dangerous invader could have proved more trouble than the invader themselves.

" _Don't bark,_ " Alaric reminded Clooney. She put a finger to her lips to emphasise her point, then moved forward. The scuffling sounded again, this time closer to the stairs. She stopped at the very top step, where she tried to steel her nerves against the thought of facing a criminal.

 _Derek keeps a gun in his office,_ she reminded herself: _If they chase me, I can run upstairs and lock myself inside. Where does he keep the key? I bet he's moved it again._

With a shake of her head, Alaric started down the stairs.

The carpet under her feet seemed to make too much noise. She was uncertain if it she heard the scuffling again, but as Clooney growled behind her and tried to force his way past she decided she must have. There was no light save the moonlight that poured in through the window, so everything around her was lit in a strange, silver glow.

Her book at the ready and her free hand clutched around the phone in her pocket, Alaric prepared to come face to face with her intruder.

She took one step on the floor, and her feet landed on something warm. There was a horrible squeal and she leapt backwards, landing painfully on the bottom step as she blindly threw her book in front of her. Clooney started to bark as the squeal became a terrified chitter, and upstairs Alaric heard the telling sounds of her minder getting out of bed.

A switch was thrown and the downstairs hall filled with light. The scuffling could still be heard; Alaric caught sight of a sharp furred face diving underneath the shoe-rack, chittering in fright and pain as her dog barked after it.

"Alaric Morgan-Reid!" she heard Mrs Bean shout above them; "What on earth are you doing up so late? And why are you making such a _racket?_ "

She turned her head to see the woman come downstairs, wrapping her orange robe more tightly around her waist. Mrs Bean's face was typical of a woman her age, with crows' feet around her eye sockets and wrinkles becoming more noticeable as time went on, but her one distinguishing feature was the tattoo on the back of her hand. It was a swallow, and underneath it in black ink was the name 'Maria.'

"I thought I heard someone down here," she said; "We have rats."

"Is that any reason to wake up all the neighbours in the middle of the night? Clooney, be quiet!"

Clooney barked once more for good measure, and then returned to Alaric's side. He sulked as Mrs Bean berated him, but when the child stroked his ear she heard his tail thump against the wall.

"Honestly Alaric, this is the fourth time you've done this," she chastised; "I've spoken with Mr Morgan and he's told us, in no uncertain terms, that the house is safe. There are alarms!"

"Alarms malfunction!" she protested.

"They haven't malfunctioned!" Mrs Bean replied; "Now go back to bed and don't get up again until morning! I'll have to tell your fathers about this."

"Go ahead! And while you're at it, _tell them we have rats._ "

She stormed past her and to her room, where after Clooney had come in she slammed the door. Alaric turned, furious that she had been fooled again; the third time that month, and the second since Derek had lectured her about it. Spencer had even decided that they might need to send her to a therapist – he claimed her experiences, coupled with the fact that they were often out of the country, were putting a strain on her mental well-being. Both he and Derek agreed it could have been the root of her sudden housebreaker fears.

"This is stupid," she murmured as she paced the room; "I'm not imagining it. If they were here more, they'd hear it too!"

Clooney looked up at her with doleful eyes. He returned to his spot on the bed, where he rested his head on his paws and let his tail fall limply over the side. Alaric pulled at her blue pyjama sleeve, searching her bedroom for anything that would settle her nerves.

Over the course of her nine months under Derek and Spencer's care, the child had decorated her room to suit her tastes. There was a desk to the left of her bed covered with books, and beside that a wardrobe filled with clothes – mostly miniature waistcoats and themed shirts. Her red curtains were drawn so she could see the moon and her duvet, themed after a popular videogame, had half-fallen on the floor.

Alaric went to sit on the bed. As she did she felt a lump in her pocket, and diving into it she found she still had the landline.

"Damn it!" she hissed. She did not dare go outside to return it, not so soon after Mrs Bean had chastised her.

Instead, she searched inside her nightstand drawer. There was a small notebook hidden there filled with emergency numbers; Spencer and Derek's were the first, written in red ink and underlined several times.

"Should I?" she asked her companion, but Clooney only looked at her and wagged his tail.

Alaric held it for a while. Her carers were more than likely after some murderer – and if not, no doubt Mrs Bean would call them and mention the child's little mishap.

"Might as well be me," she said as she dialled Derek's number.

In California, where Spencer and Derek had been chasing after a serial killer for the past three days, Morgan's phone rang in his pocket. He took it out expecting it to be Hotchner, but his brow furrowed when his home phone number came up.

"That's weird," he murmured to himself; "It's three am over there."

He answered it and said hello, and when he heard Alaric's voice on the other end he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Alaric," he said; "What are you doing up, sweet-pea?"

"It's midnight in California. What are _you_ still doing up?"

"Don't turn this around on me. Why are you up? Did Clooney jump on your stomach again?"

There was silence. Realisation dawned and he sighed, shaking his head as he swapped the phone to his other ear.

"Intruders again?"

"We have rats," she replied; "I stepped on one."

"Rats? So you're calling me, at midnight, because of rats?"

"Mrs Bean is going to call you in the morning."

"Then it _is_ because of intruders. What happened this time?"

"Where's Uncle Spencer?"

"He's in his room, probably clearing up his paperwork. Stop avoiding the question. You've called me, you obviously want to talk."

So Alaric told him, and as he listened Derek noted down the tone of her voice, how she stuttered over certain details. If he and Spencer ended up contacting a therapist, he wanted to have a decent amount for them to work with.

"Alaric, I've told you – the house is safe. No one's going to get in without our permission."

"But how do you know?" she asked; "Plenty of people have the same alarms and get broken into."

"Ally, Uncle Spencer and I will be home tomorrow. If you're still up, we'll go over the entire house and prove to you it's safe. But for now you've gotta sleep."

"I don't want to."

"Is Mrs Bean there?" he asked.

"She's in her room."

"Clooney?"

"He's staring at me."

"Good. Curl up with Clooney and shut your eyes. I'll see you tomorrow, sweet-pea."

Alaric said her goodnights and hung up, but she could not settle. She swore she could still hear scratching in the walls, constant noises at her door, and even overhead on the roof.

 _Rats,_ she told herself as she laid in her bed: _Just rats. Damn it, guys, why aren't you_ _ **here?**_


	2. The Sad State of the Mind

Their return home was met with Mrs Bean's list of noise complaints from their neighbours. Derek and Spencer accepted it, but both knew what was inside; complaints of Clooney barking in the middle of the night, random screams that woke up toddlers and made them too afraid to sleep again, and even a few 'observations' that Alaric's strange behaviour was starting to affect other children in the neighbourhood.

"This is a long list," Derek commented as he scanned through it; "We need to have a talk with Alaric."

"It's the trauma of losing her brothers. It's making her paranoid. We should find a therapist," Spencer told him.

"Should I be involved in this conversation, or were you just planning on having it around me?"

The pair of them were startled by Alaric's voice, snapping their heads to the stairs where she had appeared. Her little brow was furrowed and her words were loaded, but neither of them wanted to start an argument so soon after their return.

"Hey there, sweet-pea," Derek crouched down to her height; "How did you sleep last night?"

"I didn't. Did you catch the killer?"

"Of course – we're standing here, aren't we?" he smiled at her, and despite herself Alaric smiled back. Her irritation melted and she jumped into his arms, where she was embraced and given a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"We missed you too."

"I'll be going," cut in Mrs Bean; "But first – Mister Morgan? Mister Reid? A word?"

The pair of them told Alaric to go into the living room, and after she had reluctantly left they turned to the woman. She was not their favourite choice, but after calling their first and then their backup minder and finding them both tied up it was her or no one.

"Alaric's insomnia is out of control," she told them.

"Technically, insomnia is-"

"Spence," Derek interrupted, then to Mrs Bean he said; "What did she do this time? She mentioned we have rats."

"I have no idea what she thought she was doing. Fighting burglars with a book? It's ridiculous. All she did was frighten the dog and step on a rat. She's lucky she wasn't bitten."

"I'll have to put some poison down."

"I recommend non-lethal traps," said Reid; "It's more humane."

"Whatever you do, do something to get her under control. Alaric needs structure, discipline. If she carries on like this, she'll never be able to cope in a mainstream school."

Mrs Bean picked up her suitcase and nodded to them both while Spencer opened the front door for her. She left with a meaningful glance over her shoulder. Derek wanted to tell her Alaric's fear would not impinge on her ability to cope in school, but he could not be sure of that. If it was a result of her traumatic case, her housebreaker concerns could have been telling of a more complex emotional disorder.

"So much for having some time off after the case," he said as he threw his keys in a glass bowl near the telephone.

"It's not Alaric's fault. Irrational fears come up a lot after mental trauma. If we don't get her treated for it, she won't start recovering."

"Therapists are expensive," he pointed out; "and different ones produce different results. It'll be a long search."

"She needs it," Spencer asserted; "If we're not proactive, her fears will only become more ingrained."

Derek sighed and rubbed circles into his eyelids. He had wanted to rest for a while before he thought about therapists and doctors, but when it came to raising children – as he was quickly learning – reaction times had to be fast.

"Not tonight," he said; "She's fine for now. We've got to think about showers, dinner, then taking Clooney for a walk."

"It's going to rain," Reid pointed out as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

"Then we're going to get wet."

Inside the living room, Alaric was feeding Clooney small pieces of meat from his bowl. She had taken to doing it after Mrs Bean had kept her in the house one day; he would sit and stare at her with begging eyes, and she would give in and fetch his bowl from the kitchen. Derek had once told her it was a bad idea, but every time he had seen her do it since he had not said a word.

"They're talking about therapists," she snorted; "This isn't a therapy case, it's a case to double-check our locks. Why does no one ever listen?"

Clooney carefully took food from her fingers and wagged his tail. For a moment, Alaric wished he could talk – at least then he could provide some input and help her decide how best to approach the problem.

"Alaric!" she heard Derek call when he opened the living room door; "How about some pizza tonight?"

"Yeah!" she replied.

"What did you have with Mrs Bean?" Spencer asked as he came inside and Derek went to retrieve their phone.

"She has something against food that isn't green. Constant cabbage soup, vegetable stew, spinach casserole – it's like living with a ladybird."

Reid laughed and sat beside her, giving her his own hug with a smile. He felt a kinship with Alaric; her reading habits and IQ were similar to his, and after he had introduced her to the world of foreign film the pair of them had eaten up quite a few hours on the sofa together.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"I'm glad you're home. Now we can sort out the rats and I can sleep."

Spencer's face softened and offered her a sympathetic smile. The television was paused on the news – he had not noticed yet that it was reporting the conclusion of their case – and outside, he heard the patter of rain against the window, as well as the first rumblings of a storm.

"Storm's coming!" he heard Morgan shout.

"When are we walking Clooney?" Alaric called.

"If you get your coat on, we'll go now. I'll order food when we come back."

"Come on, Uncle Spencer!" the girl said as she jumped to the floor; "Clooney's been inside all day."

Because he could not stop her if he tried, Reid reluctantly stood up and followed Alaric, slipping his hands into his coat pockets.


	3. The Camera-Man

The storm came in violently, and as she and her carers walked Alaric feared Clooney would pull free of their grip and sprint off into the darkness. Derek assured her that he could hold him, while Spencer pulled up her hood and tightened her coat belt against the wind. They had been walking for only ten minutes, but they were all soaked through.

"We're passing the pizza place," Morgan informed them when they came to small strip of shops on their empty street; "Should we order food now?"

"We can't carry it back in this."

"Sure we can. One of us will have to stand outside with Clooney, though."

"I'll do it!" Alaric said; "I hate it in there. It always smells."

"That's just the pizza toppings, sweet-pea. Spence, are you going to stand outside with her?"

"I'll order it – you stand outside. If someone tries to take Clooney, you'll be more help than me."

The agents spared each other a glance, worried that Alaric would pick up on their hidden meaning, but she was too focused on Clooney and his straining leash to listen. Spencer had often scared himself sick thinking about who or what could be lurking around the corners, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch up their girl. If Derek was with her, it would be enough to deter them.

The pizza shop was a family-owned place that knew the trio well. It had a retro American-Italian style to it, and there was always a Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra track playing over the stereos. Several chairs and tables were set up in case of wandering families looking for a decent meal, and when he came in Spencer was greeted by the owner of the place.

"Mister Reid!" said the owner, a woman with greying hair and faint wrinkles; "It's wonderful to see you again. Is that Alaric out there? Tell her that coat looks lovely."

"I will. I'm just here to put down an order. We'll have-"

"There's no way I'm telling you," chuckled Derek to the child. Alaric frowned at him, furrowing her brow.

"Why not?" she said; "I'll hear about it on the news anyway."

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Why can't you just tell me? There are serial killers everywhere. What makes this one so special?"

"Alaric, I won't tell you about the case. It's not good for you."

"Clooney, bite him."

The dog looked up at her and wagged his tail. His 'smile' was dopey, and Alaric laughed when she saw all of his yellow teeth and black gums on display.

"Did Mrs Bean not give him his special sticks?" Derek sighed; "I told her they're important."

"Mrs Bean's nervous of Clooney. He's too big, she says. 'A girl like you needs a little dog to play with. Big dogs are for boys.'"

"Remind me about that when we're heading out for work again."

The child nodded and looked forward, where on the opposite side of the road there were small houses separated by hedges and alleys. In the darkness they all looked rather foreboding; most of their lights were out and the curtains were drawn, and each flash of lighting made it seem as if they were moving closer, looming ready to eat them.

Spencer opened the door behind them. He leaned out and looked at Derek with an almost apologetic smile, tilting his head slightly to the counter.

"They haven't got what you wanted," he said.

"Alaric, hold Clooney – and don't move even an inch," Derek passed the lead to her; "I'll be back in two minutes."

The pair went inside, though Spencer instantly regretted it. He looked back to see Alaric stroke Clooney's head, but when he was asked a question he turned and tried to calm his nerves.

 _She's outside with the dog,_ he told himself: _Clooney will protect her if someone comes up._

The wind started whipping at Alaric's face and blowing her hood from her head. She tried to pull it up, but with the rain in her eyes and her hair all over the place it was difficult to see. Clooney started to pull on his lead, and she pulled back in an effort to keep him still.

"No, Clooney!" she told him; "We have to stay here."

But then he started barking. The dog pulled at her and strained to sprint over the road, but despite the occasional flashes of lightning Alaric could not see what had riled him. Eventually, he pulled so hard that he came free, and in an instant he was racing across the road.

"Clooney!" she shouted and gave chase. The child held her hood in place, not even looking to see if there were cars coming as she sprinted after her pet, who was still barking at nothing.

Spencer and Derek had turned around to see what the barking was about, but the moment Clooney came loose and Alaric hurried to catch him Morgan hared out of the building to go after them. Spencer hurried with him while the owner followed, wringing her hands in her apron as they stepped out into the stormy night.

"Alaric!" Derek shouted when he watched her vanish down an alleyway; "Alaric, stop!"

"Clooney!"

She had a head-start on Derek. Once she was in the alleyway, he was still running across the road; and after she saw her dog disappear down a small, rubbish filled offshoot, she followed him. She kept calling his name until finally he stopped, barking and growling into the shadows beyond them.

Alaric fell down on her knees and snatched up his lead. She was about to hug him when there was a disorientating bright white flash – not the lightning, she realised with horror, but a camera. Clooney strained against his lead, but this time she held on firm. She wanted to look up and see who was in front of her, but she was almost blind.

"Hey! Get away from her!" Derek bellowed behind her. She heard his footsteps thunder up and more footsteps ahead fade away, until finally Morgan swept her up from the ground and over his shoulder. Her trousers and the bottom of her coat were covered in mud. It covered Derek's arm as he balanced her on it, holding her as if he would never let go.

"Alaric!" he breathed; "For God's sake, what were you thinking?!"

"Clooney got loose!" she whispered.

Derek shook his head and nuzzled into the side of her head. His heart was racing as he stared into the darkness, wondering who the fleeing man was and why he had taken a picture of Alaric. He had an old Polaroid camera, as well. Would it reignite and worsen his child's housebreaker fears? Would it make him and Spencer more nervous about leaving her with a babysitter?

She started to sniff against his shoulder.

"Hey now, don't cry," he said, stroking her wet hair; "It's alright. Come on – let's head back."

Spencer and the woman were standing in the doorway, though all he wanted to do was hurry over the road and find Alaric. When finally Derek came out of an alleyway, holding her against his shoulder and Clooney's lead in his free hand, he felt as if a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders.

"Reid!" Morgan called as he approached; "We need to talk."


	4. In the Beyond

Their return to the house was solemn. Alaric ate little, and when she was excused she hurried up to her room, where she locked herself in without a word. Reid and Morgan looked at each other as her footsteps faded away on the stairs, then sighed at the sound of her closing door.

"We should call the police," said Spencer.

"Tomorrow," his friend replied; "There's no point in rushing it. It's only going to go on a record somewhere."

"She's been worried about people watching her for weeks. What if it's a stalker? What if it's someone who has a vendetta against us? She could be-"

"In danger? Spence, it was most likely a creep with a camera roaming around at night. We've had plenty of peeping Toms in this area – more than I want to think about. If she was in danger, we'd know. I'll file a report tomorrow. Until then, let's not worry her any more."

Reid wanted to protest, but he thought better of it. Derek was not the sort to become hysterical and let his heart rule his head; he was a cool, calculated man, and if he felt Alaric was safe his friend would try to share that belief.

Upstairs, where she had locked herself in her room, Alaric and Clooney were sitting side-by-side on her bed. She was shaken. A man with a camera that late at night made her nervous. Had he been following them? Watching them? Was he the same person who she was sure she could hear after dark, rustling about in the bushes?

"Am I insane?" she asked her dog, but he only wagged his tail and cocked his head to the side.

Alaric stood and went to her window. Through the rain-splattered glass she could see the street lit in the artificial glow of the streetlamps, sweeping her gaze across the road to search for anyone lurking in the darkness.

 _No use,_ she thought with a frown: _The rain's too heavy to see anything._

She turned and left her room, creeping to the stairs where she could see the dining room's soft light wash against the wall. On the top step she sat, and with strained ears she started to listen. She could hear her carers' voices, hushed though they were.

"The police will want to know what you saw," she heard Spencer say; "What happened, Morgan? You didn't tell me."

"It was a Peeping Tom. Alaric had run off after Clooney and found herself in an alleyway. I was behind her trying to catch up – she's fast when she wants to be – when I saw the camera go off. Poor Alaric was almost blinded. She was kneeling down when I got to her, holding onto Clooney's lead with a death-grip and covered in mud."

"I noticed," Spencer looked pointedly into the living room, where on one of the comfortable sofas he had laid out her ruined outfit. If he had not had experience in washing bloodstains from clothes, the man might have decided to throw them out immediately.

"I didn't get a good look at the guy running off. It was definitely a man, though. Six foot tall at least."

"Men are more likely to get aggressive when confronted," Reid pointed out; "We should see if there've been any reports of a Peeping Tom in the area. If there are, the police might have a clearer description filed away somewhere."

Alaric held her breath in the split second of silence that followed. If Morgan agreed, perhaps her doubts would prove true – perhaps she was sane, and her late night wandering and worrying was justifiable. She would have an answer for her strange fears; and after all she had been through, the last thing she wanted to think was that she was losing her mind.

"Fine," Derek acquiesced; "but after that, no more talk about it. Alaric is our main concern. As long as she's safe, I'm happy."

There was another beat of silence, and then Alaric heard plates clattering as her carers started to clear the table. Long shadows in the shape of men flitted across the wall and disappeared, before with a sigh she turned and silently hurried her way up the stairs again.

"Clooney!" she whispered when she caught sight of the dog; "Come on! We're going outside."

Clooney cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"We have to see if he's out there!" Alaric leaned backwards to check where her carers were, then caught her pet's collar with a frown; "But your lead is downstairs."

She turned and faced the stairs again. If she went to fetch the lead, there was no doubt that Derek would see and question what she was up to. If she left the house without it, she would lose Clooney in the storm.

Then, she had an idea.

"Uncle Derek?" she called; "Clooney needs to go in the garden!"

"He just went!"

"He needs to go again!"

"Fine! Clooney, come here!"

Derek's change in tone had the dog hurrying down the stairs with an excited sprint. Behind him Alaric followed, offering smiles to Morgan as the man directed their pet to the kitchen.

When he was preoccupied, Alaric turned to the small door under the stairs and opened it to a storage cupboard. Spencer, who had turned his attention to paperwork, heard the tell-tale creak.

"Alaric?" he called and stood up from the dining table; "Is that you? What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" came the hasty reply, followed by a door slam; "Finding Clooney's disc!"

"It's pouring out there. Why would you need his disc?"

Spencer came in to find Alaric climbing the first step of the staircase, and with a raised eyebrow he leaned against the banister to look down at her. There was no disc in her hand.

"I was going to play in the rain."

"I see," he eyed her coat; "In that? It's filthy."

"It's fine," she defended, but added quickly afterwards; "I'm going to go upstairs and do some reading instead."

"Alaric, I'm worried about-"

"I'm fine!" the girl cut him off, and before he could reply she had run up the stairs and disappeared around the corner. Spencer could only stare after her in dismay.

"Was that Alaric?" he heard Derek walk up beside him.

"She's acting strange," he said.

"Really? What's she doing?"

"She said she was trying to find Clooney's disc. And she had her coat on."

"Wasn't her coat in the living room?"

"I moved it to the banister. I wanted to wash it. What is she up to?"

"Knowing her, nothing good," Morgan sighed and threw the tea towel he was holding over his shoulder; "Should I go and see what she's doing?"

"No, she'll be alright. It can't be anything too bad."

Upstairs, Alaric had taken the lead out from her coat and opened her window, peering down at the darkness below. She knew there was a set of chairs outside that she could fall on top of, and even if she decided to jump she could have easily broken a bone.

 _The gutter,_ she thought as she spied the sleek black drainpipe attached to the wall beside her: _I can use that to get down. Hold on, Clooney – we're going on a cameraman hunt!_

With a deep breath, Alaric reached out and clutched the drain. There were regular attachments that she could use as foot-holds; if she was careful, she was sure she could slide down at least part of the way.

 _Carefully,_ she told herself: _Uncle Derek and Uncle Spencer will be mad if they find you._

Once she was sure she had a firm grip, Alaric climbed onto her windowsill and made the first tentative move to climb on the drainpipe. Each time she felt her foot slip, she imagined falling and landing in her brothers' arms, their sweet smiles welcoming her to a world with no pain, no fear – a world she could never dream of. But she held tight and continued climbing, even when Clooney's bark startled her and the rain slicked her little hands.

"Quiet!" she hissed; "Clooney, quiet!"

"Clooney?" came Morgan's call as he opened the back door; "Are you alright? Do you want to come inside?"

The dog fell silent. Alaric held her breath when she saw Derek's head pop out and peer into the darkness below her, and only released it when he shrugged and turned back inside.

"He's alright!" he shouted to Spencer; "Must've seen a cat or something."

Alaric soon felt close enough to the ground to jump from the drain. She landed heavily, falling to her knees with a grunt as Clooney bounded over to her.

"I'm fine!" she muttered while above them, lightning flashed; "I'm fine, Clooney. Come here – let's get this lead on."

Retrieving the lead from her coat, the child quickly clipped her dog and stood up, ignoring the wet patches on her knees to concentrate on their surroundings. She had come to learn a lot about Derek's house; the side-gate, which besides scaling the fence was her only means of escape, was locked – but Morgan had another key hidden in a flowerpot outside in case he ever needed it.

"Come on," she tugged at Clooney's lead; "We can reach the pot through the gate. Come on!"

She led him to it, and though he whimpered and pulled Clooney refused to move more than a few paces from his ward. His doleful eyes stared at her as she put her hand through the bars, rummaging through the muddy soil in search of the key.

"Found it!" she let out a triumphant shout, which thankfully was drowned out by thunder; "Let's go!"

There was a faint jangle as she slotted the key into the lock. She twisted, and in a moment it swung open with a gust of wind and smashed against the side of the house. Alaric froze, straining her ears for the tell-tale sound of the back door opening.

When she heard nothing, the child pressed on.

"We'll check the area," she said as she pulled Clooney after her; "With you here, we'll be fine. Come on! Uncle Spencer might check on me soon."

The dog hesitated for a beat. Then Alaric tugged again, and he followed.

If she found the cameraman, she was sure she could sleep.


	5. She Prophetic Sees

Spencer went to check on Alaric with a plateful of snacks. It had been a good hour since she had left the dining room, and he thought a peace offering – especially one with Cadburys – would cheer her up. He stood outside her door and knocked, listening out for the tell-tale sounds of her feet shuffling on the ground.

When he heard nothing, he sighed.

"Alaric?" he said, knocking again with his bare knuckle; "Alaric, can you let me in please? I want to talk to you."

Alaric stumbled in the street. Clooney barked, but with a grunt she heaved herself to her feet again, clutching his lead as though she thought he would run off.

"It's not raining that hard!" she said, though her coat was soaked and she was freezing; "Just once more around the block! If we can't find him, we'll go home!"

The dog let out a low whimper and crouched down, until Alaric could do no more than uselessly pull on his leash. She glared at him as she tried, then sighed and shook her head.

"Just once more!" she said; "Come on, Clooney! You love playing in the sprinklers; why not the rain?!"

"Alaric?" Spencer's voice had gained a hard edge to it; "Alaric, stop ignoring me. I want you to open this door right now."

There was still silence. He contemplated fetching Derek, but it would exacerbate the problem – Alaric was the sort to put up her guard if she thought she was being pressured into something.

Outside, a flash of lighting caught his eye and distracted him. Spencer almost dropped the plate in his hands, but even though he caught it mid-fall he lost the Cadburys chocolate bar and several Lindor eggs, two of which rolled underneath the small telephone table outside of Alaric's room.

"Damn it!" he murmured, kneeling down on the floor to find them. He put the plate just in front of her door, praying that she did not come out and send them flying. "I'm coming in in just a minute, Alaric! I want to talk to you, young lady."

Alaric ducked to avoid being drenched by a puddle when a car hurtled past her in the road. Clooney let out another frustrated grumble, skulking beside the girl while she checked the dark alleys and quiet streets connected to her carer's, hoping for just one glimpse of the man she was sure existed. The entire world was a wet grey, oil-slicked roads and sodden wooden fences, and trees twisting in agony in the wind.

Her hair lashed at her face. Alaric had to squint to protect her eyes, and in the dark she could hardly see more than two feet in front of her. What she saw were bright headlights beaming through the rain, and then heard the squeal of tires moving away from her and down the street.

"Who was that?!" she asked her companion, tugging at his lead; "Come on! We need to follow them!"

Once more, Clooney crouched low and refused to move further.

"Come _on_!"

He barked in response. The houses around them turned on their lights and she glanced to see curious faces peek out from their windows. Pulling at her dog's leash, she tried to get him to move.

"Come _on_ come _on_ come _on_!"

Spencer rushed downstairs to find Derek on the sofa, watching a cooking channel with a vaguely interested expression.

"She's gone!" he said as he threw on his coat.

"What? Who's gone?" Derek stood up, turning off the television and throwing the remote to the side.

"Alaric!" Spencer chucked his scarf and coat at him with panic in his voice; "Her window was open and she's not in her room! She must have climbed down the drainpipe."

"The _drainpipe_?" Derek hurried to dress himself and followed Spencer to the door; "She wouldn't do that. She could break her neck!"

"Well, she has and she didn't! She's somewhere out there right now and we need to find her!"

The elder agent snatched his keys from the hook and Spencer threw open the door, barely closing it behind them before they bolted to their car.

One of the front doors opened. There was a shout and someone hurried out to her; a dark, slender figure that crouched down at her side, wearing a thick hoodie that hid their face.

"Why are you out here all alone in this weather?" asked a voice – a man's voice; "Are you lost?"

"No!" she replied. Clooney strode up beside her and let out a protective growl as he eyed the stranger, careful not to let him get too close to his friend.

"It's too dangerous out here, especially for a little girl. Where are your parents? Do you live nearby?"

"They're dead," she said; "and I have to go. Follow me, Clooney."

A hand caught her arm before she could hurry down the street. Her dog leapt forward, but he did not bite the man; Derek had trained him too well to injure another person, not unless he was overtly dangerous.

"You're not going anywhere in this storm. Come inside. We'll call the police and let them know where you are."

"I don't need the police! I need you to let go of me!"

She tried to pull her arm free, but he was much stronger than her. Clooney tried to loosen his grip through intimidation; he raised his hackles and lowered his head, growling as though he could pounce at any moment.

"The dog will have to stay in the garden if it's aggressive," he said, lifting her up and forcing the lead from her hand; "There's a kennel there from our last one."

"Put me down! Put me down!" Alaric fought against him; "For God's sake, put me down!"

She tried in vain to loosen his grip. She wrenched each of his fingers from her, tried wriggling out of his grasp, but he was far too strong. With a frown she let herself go limp, her arms hanging dejectedly over his as she was carried inside the house and the door closed behind her.

"Alaric Morgan-Reid, what in Hell's name were you _thinking_?!"

Alaric ducked her head down to the floor. She stared at her muddy shoes, not daring to look up and see Derek's semi-relieved, semi-furious face in front of her. Spencer was pacing the small room opposite them, his arms folded across his chest as he tried to work through his emotions.

"You could have died! You could have broken your neck, you could have been hit by a tree branch, you could have been hurt by the storm - you could have been stolen off the street! Are you determined to give us heart attacks?!"

She said nothing in response. Derek ran his hands down his face and stared at her, pressing his fingers against his mouth.

It was a while before she spoke.

"There was a car-"

"There are cars all over the place, Alaric! It's a residential area!" Spencer cut in.

"It drove away when I came near it!" she looked up at them in desperation; "It drove away!"

"A car drove away, and you think that's justification for what you did? What you risked by going out there and saying nothing to us?!"

Alaric stared at him, anger burning in her eyes, but she had no response. Now that she thought back to it, the car could have been anything; a family leaving for sunnier ventures; a friend leaving after a visit; even a taxi dropping someone off at home.

Derek saw the ever-so-slight doubt cross her eyes. It made him change tactics. With a sigh he leaned in, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

"I'm not mad."

"Liar."

"I'm not," he said; "but I'm disappointed, Alaric. I'm so disappointed. I thought we were going to work on this."

"I am. There's someone watching us and I-"

Derek shushed her. The child fell quiet, though it was after a long moment of half-words and restrained noises.

"I'm not interested in that, Alaric. I want to forget about the man – he's not important. Now, Spencer and I've been talking-"

"A lot," the younger man added.

"We think it's best if you see someone. Someone you can talk to about what you're feeling-"

"You're sending me to a _therapist_?" she exclaimed, incredulous and offended; "We're being stalked and you want me to talk to someone about my feelings?! I'm fine!"

"No, Alaric, you're not. You've been through a lot with your parents and brothers-"

"Don't blame this on that. Don't bring them up when this doesn't involve them!"

"It does involve them, sweet-pea," said Derek softly; "It does. What you're feeling is a reaction of what happened to you. There's no one watching us, no one's coming after us; we're safe. We just all need to help each other work through these problems."

"What problems? You're not here enough to have problems!" Alaric jumped down from her seat and went to the door, which though she tried to open stayed shut. She wrestled with the handle as she spoke. "Why did you even adopt me? You're never around, you're never free, you're always working! I'm stuck at home with that stupid babysitter while you're going after all these murderers! People like my parents! And now you're saying I'm fucked up too!"

"Alaric, language! We're not saying that at all," said Spencer.

"Yes you are! Why else would you send me to a Goddamn therapist?!"

"Because we want you to feel better!"

"I'd feel better if you'd just listen to me!"

She turned to them and glared. Derek and Spencer stood beside each other with their arms folded across their chests and their faces resolute.

"It's happening," said Derek; "and you just have to accept it. Now let's get Clooney and go home. We all need some sleep."

Alaric just stood to the side as he walked and effortlessly opened the door beside her.


	6. Safehouse

"This has to end here," said Derek once he and Spencer had sent Alaric to bed; "Her housebreaker fear is out of control. We're going to find the best therapist we can and get to the bottom of this."

"Agreed," Reid went to his laptop, which he had left on the dining room table on a page about the occult. As he typed in names, the genius told Derek about all therapists in the area that could help them. "There are some with experience dealing with traumatised kids. Alaric needs to see one of them sooner rather than later."

"Tomorrow. Let's just head to bed for tonight. I'm exhausted."

"But she's-"

"Alaric's safe in her room. She won't be getting out again. We'll pick this up tomorrow – for now, it's time to sleep."

The room had been 'secured' for the night; the window was locked and the key hidden, and Clooney was stationed outside Alaric's door in case she crept out while her carers were asleep. She paced the length of her floor a dozen times, mumbling curses to herself as she clutched and shook her head.

"They don't understand, they don't understand," she murmured over and over again; "They don't see it. But someone's _out there_ – I know it, I know it!"

Clooney shuffled outside. The noise made her jump, and when she turned around and faced the door she thought about banging on it, if only to frighten her carers downstairs.

"They think I'm insane. They think I'm like my parents. But I'm not. My parents hurt people. My parents hurt my brothers. Damn it, Lewis, Harry, why aren't you _here_?"

Downstairs, she could hear Derek telling Spencer it was time for bed. Her name was mentioned a few times, but the older agent was firm; neither of them would see her until the morning, after she had cooled down.

"She's angry," he was saying; "After she's had time to think about it, she'll understand we only want the best for her."

"She's right, though. We aren't here enough for her."

"That's the nature of the job, Reid. JJ has the same problem – so does Hotch and everyone else on the team. We'll find a balance. It'll just take some time."

"I hope you're right, Morgan."

Alaric furrowed her brow. She could hear the hopelessness in Spencer's tone; his words were almost a sigh, and when she heard footsteps on the stairs and Clooney shuffling she dived to the door, sitting down with her ear pressed against the wood.

"Hey there, boy," came Derek's soft voice. Clooney's tail thumped against the door. "I need you to watch Alaric tonight. Can you do that for me?"

There was an enthused bark. She heard Derek laugh.

"That's a good boy."

"Clooney won't be able to stop her leaving her room."

"No, but he'll jump up and we'll hear him get excited if she does. That's as good an alarm as any."

Their footsteps started down the hall again and soon died away. Alaric listened as her dog settled down into his spot, ready for sleep after their disastrous adventures.

Derek put his phone on his bedside table and started his nightly routine. He changed, he brushed his teeth, then he climbed into bed and looked for his television remote. There was a large flat screen on the wall at the foot of his bed, just above the dresser drawer where he kept Alaric's pictures. The cool beige-cream of his walls calmed him, and for a moment he could forget about Alaric's outburst as he smiled at her happy face on a bright summer's day, offset by a background of leaves.

 _She's upset,_ he reasoned: _But this is the right thing to do. We need to think about what's best for her, not what she wants most._

He heard Clooney stir in the hall and went to stand up, but the dog quickly fell silent again. There were no soft little footsteps coming up to his room, and his door did not creak open.

 _Must still be in her room,_ he thought as he settled down again. He found his television remote on the floor near his bed and turned on his flat screen, deciding on a program about unsolved phenomena. He kept one ear out in case Alaric came looking for him – and despite telling Spencer neither of them should see her, he hoped she would.

Reid was in his room adjusting the numerous pillows on his bed. He still wanted to see Alaric, but he trusted Derek's judgement. The pair of them would talk to her in the morning when she was calmer, and then he and his friend would start searching for therapists.

 _Or I'll start suggesting them._

His room was comfortable and every surface had at least one book on it, some with a fine layer of dust over ancient-looking covers and others that were well-thumbed and open. There was no television in sight, but there was a collection of foreign films in a large bookshelf built into the corner, wedged between the books he had bothered to organise. When he was at home he and Alaric would often read together on his bed; she was a fan of horror fiction while he preferred nonfiction, but he always found some enjoyment in reading her Poe or Blatty.

 _Damn_! He thought suddenly, reaching down and rummaging through his bag slouched against the side of his bed. He pulled out a brand new copy of H.P. Lovecraft's _Great Tales of Horror_ ; an anniversary edition, and one that included countless illustrations, artistic renditions, and some essays on Cthulhu and Lovecraft's writings. The black cover shone underneath his light, each spotted green tentacle almost gleaming at him as he tilted it to and fro in his hands.

 _I meant to give this to her when we came back. She's had her eye on it for so long. I'll do it tomorrow, after we've talked about therapists. It's bound to cheer her up._

Alaric peered out of her window. The storm was still battering against the glass and she could hardly see for the rain, but she could make out the outline of trees painted black against the sky, waving wildly about in the wind howling across her neighbourhood.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash.

Alaric dived away from the window the moment she saw it. Too small to be lighting, it reminded her of the camera flash and the man running away, and when she finally worked up the courage to peer out of her window again – this time coming up from underneath the sill until her eyes were just above it – she saw the faintest outline of a man in the garden beside theirs, snapping pictures of the house.

" _Derek!_ " she shouted, throwing herself away from the window so violently that she ended up on her back. She started to scramble backwards on her elbows, screaming all the while. " _Uncle Derek! Uncle Spencer!"_

Two doors crashed open and Clooney started scratching and barking at her door. Derek erupted into the room in his pyjama bottoms and started frantically searching for danger, while behind him Spencer ran in and collapsed on his knees at Alaric's side, trying to figure out what she was shouting about.

"Alaric? Alaric, what's wrong?!"

"He's outside! He's outside!"

"Who's outside?" he asked as Derek rushed to the window and lifted the curtains. He peered out and tried to see past the rain pouring down, but even in the garden next door he could see no one.

"The man! He was taking pictures of the house!"

"Alaric, there's no one out there."

"He _was_!" she buried her face in Spencer's shoulder; "And you won't believe me because you didn't see him! He was there, he was there, he was there!"

Reid put his arms around her and hugged her close, looking up at Derek with concern in his eyes. They exchanged nods, and then the genius comfortingly smiled into her hair.

"Come on," he said; "You can sleep in my room tonight. I have a present for you."

Once Alaric had calmed down enough to stand, Spencer led her out of the room. Clooney, who had been whining at phantoms, followed them to settle outside of Reid's door, and Derek caught his friend before he could disappear through it.

"Tomorrow we're checking," he said; "If we can find footprints, evidence, _anything_ , we're taking her somewhere safe."

Spencer nodded.

"Tell me if she needs anything. Try and get some sleep."

"We'll try."

Derek watched as the door closed behind the genius, the hopelessness of his tone ringing long after he had vanished.


	7. The Sleepers

Alaric rested in Spencer's arms that night, but the genius could not sleep. He stroked her hair as she slumbered, her little breaths quiet and comforting, looking over her head at the Lovecraft novel he had left sitting on his bedside table. A corner of one page was bent inwards. Spencer had read to her, even after she had fallen asleep.

Outside, he could hear Clooney's shuffling and occasional huffs as he stood guard at the door. Reid watched the dog's shadow filter the light that seeped in underneath his door, listened when he let out little whines of boredom or displeasure, but he did not bark. There were no intruders during the night. Alaric slept soundly, but her carers laid awake, waiting for something – _anything_ to happen.

The morning sun came up. Dawnlight flooded the sleepy streets and roused the birds, who all started twittering and flapping their wings in excitement. Clooney scratched at Derek's door, whining to be fed, as Spencer's eyes flickered open and he realised he had fallen asleep. He looked down at Alaric, only to find her still sleeping. The sight of her peaceful face made him smile.

He heard Morgan's door open down the hall. Clooney let out an excited whine, and underneath it Reid listened to the agent's footsteps reach his room, pause, then carry on to the stairs. A scarcely audible sigh went with it.

"Alaric," Spencer gently shook her shoulder; "Alaric, it's time to wake up. It's morning."

The girl gave a small, strained noise of protest.

"Come on – we need to have breakfast."

"Is he still there?" she murmured, half-asleep and barely coherent.

"Who?"

"The man."

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat. Alaric's eyes wrenched open to gaze up at him, and the longer she went without an answer the harder she stared, as if waiting for him to admit he had no idea. Soon her eyes were so intense and penetrating that it was as if she had never been asleep in the first place.

"There's no man," he told her with a smile, patting her shoulder before he turned to roll out of bed; "Come on. Uncle Derek's already up."

Alaric's brow furrowed, but she followed her carer's lead.

Downstairs, Derek fed and let Clooney out for his morning routine, but when he went to close the back door he found himself staring out at the fence that bordered his garden, clutching the handle so hard that it dug into his palm. He imagined someone standing just beyond the wooden slats, waiting for an opportunity, the perfect moment to creep in and put his stalker knowledge to the test. He imagined Alaric in danger. The thought made him angry.

"Uncle Derek?"

He turned to the sound of his ward's voice, and with a smile he went to meet her as she wandered into the kitchen, lifting her up on his hip while she peered at the door.

"Hey there, sweet-pea. Sleep well?"

"Is there something outside?"

"What? No. I just let Clooney out."

"Why were you staring?"

"I was watching him."

Alaric turned her gaze from the door to his eyes. Despite his smile, Derek knew she could see through his lies.

"Hey, why don't we make a start on breakfast?" he suggested; "Uncle Spencer needs his coffee before we head out today."

"Where are we going?" Alaric asked as she was set down on the floor, following the agent while he opened various drawers and cupboards to find what he needed.

"We're going to the office to talk to Hotch," he said without looking; "We need to ask him about something."

Alaric opened the fridge to take out a carton of juice, "Is it the man?"

"No – just some paperwork we need to do."

"You're lying. There's no paperwork."

"There's always paperwork after a case."

The girl sighed and turned the carton in her hand. As she stabbed the straw through the tin foil hole, Derek heard her mutter:

"Why does no one tell me the truth?"

Their morning routine went on as usual, though Alaric was sullen and quiet. Clooney came to sit at her side during breakfast and she absent-mindedly stroked his ear as she ate, staring vacantly at a mark on the table made long before she had arrived. Spencer watched her over his food, but her expression never changed. She kept her face carefully blank.

Derek went outside under the pretence of seeing what mess Clooney had left behind while the pair of them ate, and the moment he closed the door behind him he raced over to the fence, scanning for anything an intruder might have dropped in their escape. He found nothing out of the ordinary. The grass was still wet from the rain the night before, so much so that when he ran he had almost slipped and fallen in the mud. The fence was not scuffed and there was no slat out of place. No one had come through to his garden, not even to cut across it.

 _Was he out here?_ He wondered to himself as he searched: _She never told us where he was. He must have been. If he's real, that is._

The agent sighed. He could feel the prick of terror at the base of his skull – a creeping, sickening feeling that he was about to lose control of the situation, and he had no idea what signs he needed to watch out for. He was a blind man stumbling in a rainforest, disorientated and alone.

 _What can I do to help her?_

The moment their plates were put in the dishwasher, Spencer handed Alaric her coat and fetched his own from the stand. Derek returned to them both preparing to leave, smiling at them as he went to find his jacket.

"It's cold out there," he said as he passed; "We'll have to check the weather later and see if it's raining."

"It is." Alaric said.

"How do you know?"

"The news is on," she half-turned to the living room door, which was open just enough to show the television screen and its familiar morning news setup. "It's been on all morning."

"Did you turn it on?" Derek asked Spencer.

"No. Alaric, did you?"

"No. It was on when we came downstairs. Didn't you notice?"

The agents stared at each other. Their expressions were a mixture of confusion, discomfort, and even fear. Spencer was certain he had switched the television off the night before; he had even put the remote on the table so that Derek could find it the next morning. Alaric peered at their faces through narrowed eyes, stepping forward slightly as if she was about to stand between them.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Her careful, curious voice snapped them out of their reverie.

"Nothing," said Derek with a smile; "Must have forgotten to turn it off last night. No harm done. Hey, why don't we hit the store on the way and get you some more juice?"

Alaric watched as Spencer went into the living room and switched off the television. She thought he hesitated for a moment when he picked up the remote on the sofa, but then Derek picked her up and her attention turned to him. He brushed some of her hair out of her eyes, a wistful smile on his lips as he did so.

"Beautiful," he murmured. Alaric raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"You're a beautiful little girl, Alaric. You'll be a heartbreaker."

"I don't want to be," she said.

"I know. Come on. I think Spencer's done."

Once the genius had joined them, the family said one final farewell to Clooney, then headed out of the door.


	8. The Vanishing Act

The supermarket was one of Alaric's least favourite places. The lights' mechanic hum set her on edge and shone too brightly on the uninspired signs and packaged food. The aisles were too wide; her shoes echoed on the ceramic tiled floor. She could see her carers further ahead of her near the cheeses, but she stayed close to the cart and played with her coat, listening in on the conversations of other shoppers.

There were only two others in the supermarket at that time – a pair of university-aged women, one a slender and plain-faced brunette and the other larger and more boisterous. The larger one had dyed her hair an obnoxious red which hurt Alaric's eyes, had a smattering of green piercings decorating her face (as well as a septum piercing that reminded her of a charging bull), and a voice that reached only two pitches – low or deafeningly high. Alaric had decided she did not like her. Her friend was more subdued and moved more gracefully, gliding back and forth between the shelves as she spoke. Her footsteps were louder than her voice.

They were talking about her carers.

"Look at them – they obviously are!" said the larger one. "They've even got a kid with them!"

"Gilda! You're being loud!"

The slender one returned from the shelves with a carton of eggs in her hand. Gilda's face wrinkled in disgust as she put them in their trolley, before she reached over and snatched up a few more.

"They could be friends?" The brunette ventured. Gilda snorted.

"Friends! What friends shop together?"

"They're not wearing rings."

"Not all of them do!" she replied; "No need! All of them are cheating on each other anyway. There's no loyalty in _those_ relationships."

Alaric's brow furrowed. She considered arguing with her, but thought better of it. If she were even paid attention to by the red-haired Goliath, she had a feeling she would end up on the receiving end of a long rant; and her energy had already been spent that morning.

"That's rude, Gilda."

"No, that's _honest_ , Rachel. There's no loyal relationships now! Wait until your boyfriend gets a little bit bored of you, then you'll see."

The slender woman eyed her with a look of unveiled weariness, "Can you just help me find everything?"

Their conversation idled for a while and Alaric busied herself with organising their cart. She listened still to their occasional exchanges – a tiff over whether to buy cod or salmon, a thinly-veiled threat of moving from Rachel – until, at length, Gilda turned the conversation to her carers again. Spencer and Derek had at this point moved from the cheeses to yoghurts, and every now and then the agents would look over their shoulder to check on her.

"Do you think the skinny one's looking at me?" Gilda asked; "I keep seeing him glance over here."

"What? No. He's probably just looking at his daughter."

"I don't know, maybe. But, isn't it so weird to be checking someone out in a supermarket?"

"I haven't seen him look at us."

"He has!" Gilda half-pouted at her. It reminded Alaric of a petulant child told to stop playing with her toys. "He's probably shy or something."

"I thought you said they're a couple?"

"That was _before_ he started looking at me!"

Alaric rolled her eyes and turned her back to the pair. She was holding a small tin of custard in her hand, and when she spun on her heel she lost her grip and watched as it rolled down the aisle and hit the end of a shelf further down. The child hurried to catch it.

"Damn it!" she murmured.

"Don't curse, Alaric!" she heard Derek call after her. She let out a little huff as she reached the can and leaned over to pick it up.

"Do you have that list of therapists on you?" Morgan asked his friend. Spencer had been inspecting some of the yoghurts' sugar contents when he spoke, and so the question caught him momentarily off guard. He looked up at him, blinking owlishly, before he nodded.

"I have it all memorised," he said. Derek smiled.

"Of course you do. Maybe we should think about it today – you know, narrow it down to some people we'd like for her? I'd feel better if we had something in the works."

"I would too."

The pair smiled at each other, then turned their attention to their shopping. Once the pair had collected everything up and Spencer had found an acceptable yoghurt, they turned to their cart.

Derek frowned.

"Alaric?" he called. The child was nowhere in sight. The can she had run after was still lying against the opposite aisles' shelf, but she was not there with it. Reid turned his head to the other end of the aisle, but saw only the large and slender woman having an argument about fruits and vegetables. Once his eyes landed on her, the larger woman smiled and waved at him. He was too confused to respond with more than a nod.

Then, he felt the first cold sweat of panic trickle down his spine.

"Morgan, where is she?" he said, looking wildly left to right.

"I don't know. Alaric? Alaric?"

His voice echoed around the supermarket, but there was no response. Derek's frown deepened as he threw the packages in his arms on a shelf to his side and stormed over to the can, as if expecting her to be hiding from them. Spencer hurried after him.

"She's not here," he murmured; "Derek, she's not here. Where is she? She was _right here_!" Derek crouched to the floor and picked up the custard. He held it in his hand for a moment and closed his eyes, shutting out the noise of the outside world as he tried to control his breathing. The panic that had started to creep up on him ebbed a fraction. The agent stood and clasped his friend's shoulders.

"Reid, listen to me," he said; "Go to the front desk and ask them if they've seen Alaric leaving with anyone. Get their description. I'll call the police now, then Hotch."

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. He fought with the terror rising in his chest.

"Good. Go now. We have forty-eight hours before the chance of us finding her alive drops."

That spurred Spencer's limbs into action. Derek watched as he rushed from the aisles and disappeared further down the supermarket, towards the front entrance, before he pulled out his phone and dialled '911'. He steadied his breathing while it connected.

"Police," he said to the operator, and then when the call had been passed through he said; "Hello? I need someone out here right away. My daughter's missing. Someone's taken my daughter."


End file.
